A hand emerged from the darkness and placed a steaming mug—Greg's favorite mug—on the table."Drink.""What is this?" Greg demanded, starting to rise from his chair. "You can't—"He'd barely moved an ... [+]
I've always been curious about the identities of old statues. The minds behind the cool marble and bronze that now lie behind glass cases and plastic name cards. How did they come about being immortalized in stone? Were they just strangers whose profiles lingered in the minds and the hands of the carver? Were they friends, children, servants, lovers? For how long were they implored to remain still? How many requests to straighten themselves, to lift their chins? Did they ever dream that many years into the future, their images would be in all manner of book, of photos, and merchandise? Pe